


Winter's Ash

by Bard_de_Bleu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, mostly anyway, trying to get this out there before S8 breaks my heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-12-07 04:35:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18229976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bard_de_Bleu/pseuds/Bard_de_Bleu
Summary: What life can be salvaged from the ashes of the Long Night? Is love too much to hope for in these dark times?Endgame for Brienne and Jaime, starting with a battle at Winterfell from Brienne's POV.





	1. Winter's Ash

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's been a long time since I've posted on here. This'll be a short story, but I'm good for at least 4-5 chapters.
> 
> Anyway...I offer this fic as a prayer to the old Gods and the new, hoping they deliver a satisfying ending for my two favorite characters in Season 8. Hope you all enjoy, and let me know what you think.

Winterfell was engulfed by flame. A churning hell of light and darkness. It burned so bright, it nearly blinded her. It roared so loudly, she couldn’t hear anything else. The thick smell of burning bodies was almost too much to bear.

But Brienne had to bear it. She slashed left and right, stumbling over charred stone and flesh. No chance at survival, and no choice but to keep fighting. They kept coming, the undead things. The horrors were drawn to her like the flame to the air which tore higher and higher into the night sky. Smoke billowed from the towers above. It was getting hard to breathe, but she could not falter, could not abandon her position, could not let the undead into the crypts where Sansa and Bran were safe. For now.

_And the others..._

Brienne had no time to think of the others, fighting off the army of the dead beyond the castle walls. Every thought and all her senses were sharp and focused on the task at hand despite the ache in her muscles, the searing pain of her wounds. 

She had time to take in a deep breath--but she choked on it, hunching over and coughing on the air thick with smoke. Her body could not last much longer in this. Even as smoke filled her lungs and fogged her head, Brienne tried to gather herself. She strengthened her stance as best she could. For a strange and still moment, there was mercy. Nothing emerged from the fire and smoke all around her. _Has it stopped? Is it done?_ The raging fires seemed to blur and still before her, as if they were a painting--an image Brienne had the surreal sense of seeing before, in the pages of a book. A different burning castle.  _Summerhall._

A tattered beast raged towards her from out of the smoke, breaking her reverie. Brienne lifted Oathkeeper, but not quickly enough--the thing lunged, dagger in hand, and the bite of cold steel sank deep below her left shoulder. With a howl of agony, Brienne fell back into the snow. The thing was on her, its jaws open in a laugh, or a scream. It came close enough for Brienne to smell the stench of death and darkness. She wrenched its dagger away and slashed the thing right through the middle of its bony maw. It fell away, lifeless.

She lay gasping and wheezing in the snow, in what was once the courtyard of Winterfell. Black snow was falling, swirling in the thick white sky like bits of burnt paper.

_Not snow. Ash._

She tried to rise. She could not. The best she could do was turn her head. She glimpsed her large oaken shield. It lay beside her in the snow, charred and covered in blood, but she could still make out the path of the falling star. For some reason she thought of Summerhall again, and Ser Duncan the Tall who had died in those fires. Had he had a chance to say goodbye to the ones he loved? The history books did not tell.

Brienne stifled a whimper of pain as she tried to rise again, and failed. _I might never rise again._ She wished she could say goodbye to her father. To tell him that she tried her best to make him proud, in the only way that she could.

Another explosion of flame from a burning tower. The light glinted in the ruby-encrusted pommel of Oathkeeper, resting in her outstretched hand.  _Jaime._ She held her breath and blinked hard to shut out the thought of him, but a tear cleared a trail down her cheek. _I won’t say goodbye to Jaime._ _I won’t even know if he’s alive._

Even as the flames rose higher and the night still burned, Brienne felt her chest grow tight and cold. A trembling chill entered her body. She closed her eyes but fought sleep. _If I sleep, I die._ Still, she felt herself drifting into a half-sleep. She was floating, a piece of ash on the wind. And when she came to settle, she found that the ground was trembling like her cold body.

No. The ground was pounding. Something or someone was coming.

Weakly, she opened her eyes. A dark shape approached--a large black flake which loomed larger and larger. A figure on a horse. _The_   _Stranger._ At the recognition, she felt at peace. The trembling stopped. Death was coming for her at last. She had evaded him for so long. He would take her as a gentle lord takes a lady. _Surely there's comfort in that,_ she thought, drifting back to sleep.

_“Brienne!”_

The voice was familiar but far away. She opened her eyes fully, and found that she was no longer in her body---yet she could see herself in the charred snow, the figure kneeling close beside her. The fires of Winterfell had burnt lower, mostly embers now. Her own fires burnt lower, too. She could feel herself drifting further and further into the night.

The figure touched his left hand to her face and shook her with the other, a golden hand that glowed in the firelight. She could barely feel it.

_“Brienne, no. No, no, no.”_

He was removing her armor and his armor as quickly as one hand could allow. Then he was lying over her, there in the snow. Brienne felt the pressure of his whole body on top of hers. She even felt some warmth, the beat of his heart through the leathers. But she was too cold, too broken, too far away.

_“Brienne, please...you can’t...not now.”_

There was a warm wetness on her cheeks. Jaime was weeping. His forehead pressed to her forehead. His whiskers brushed her freezing skin.

_“You can’t leave, Brienne. Not now...I…I love...”_

At that moment, all the sound and light in the world ran dry. She could no longer hear his pleas, though she tried desperately, and no longer could she see their bodies bound together in the snow. But she felt his lips move against hers--a fervent prayer, or a kiss, or both--and she felt his words:

_“...I love you...I love you Brienne.”_

A warm glow flared hot in her breast, the strike of a match deep inside--then her senses fell completely into darkness.

 


	2. The Small Flame

She floated in a deep sea of shadow.

Occasionally, Brienne heard what she thought were voices, but the sound distorted and billowed all around her. Mostly, she floated in silence. A sweet and gentle current drew her downward, ever downward. And yet there was a small flame in the nothingness. It had lighted when Jaime lay with her there in the snow. It burned inside her still. She remembered. The memory ignited her senses and spread warmth throughout her body. She could swim. She fought upward to a faint light, reaching...

She surfaced, and cracked open her eyes. Brightness poured in through the dusty room. Birds were singing out the window. Something rustled near her and called her name. Brienne blinked the hazy image into focus. An auburn-haired woman, regal furs wreathed around her shoulders. Her eyes were wet and shining.

“Brienne,” Sansa said, squeezing her hand. “You’ve come back. I knew you would.”

“Jaime...” Brienne uttered, but her was voice hoarse from disuse and she coughed on it.

Sansa gave her water, then called for the maester.

“Ser Jaime is now Lord Jaime. He is in the Westerlands, rebuilding Casterly Rock much like we’re rebuilding Winterfell." Sansa sighed. "There’s so much more to tell you about everyone and everything…but later.”

Brienne tried to speak again, but failed. Sansa shushed her.

“Later. Now, you need rest.”

-

It was a few days before Brienne truly regained a sense of her surroundings. The castle was still largely in ruins. Brienne felt in ruins herself. Her left arm was weak from her shoulder injury, and she could scarcely move her right leg without searing pain.

And yet there was growth and healing at Winterfell. The birds sang outside, and the sun shone for nearly two hours a day. The Long Night was over; spring was here. Sansa reigned as Queen in the North, and Arya and Bran attended her in efforts to rebuild the North.  

Meanwhile, Brienne did all she could to keep her mind busy, even if her body was broken. She read books. She exchanged correspondence with her father on Tarth, who was overjoyed--in his own taciturn way--to hear from her, his only child and heir.

She received visitors. Of them all, Sansa was her favorite bedside companion--but often busy with her queenly duties. Still, many others kept Brienne company as she regained her health.

Arya gave Brienne the details of the state of the kingdom, the grisly death toll after the war. King’s Landing demolished. King Jon grieving at Dragonstone, with his infant son that Daenerys had birthed shortly before her own death. Tyrion was at Dragonstone, too, serving as Jon’s hand.

“Shouldn’t Tyrion be with Jaime, in the Westerlands?”  Brienne asked.

Arya shook her head.

“They’ve had some sort of falling out. I don’t know. Has to do with Cersei.”

A knot formed in Brienne’s stomach.

“Cersei?”

“Dead. Tyrion killed her.” Arya paused. “A pity. I wanted to do it myself.”

Bran came to visit after Arya. Unsurprisingly, he proved a very silent companion, and Brienne began to feel uneasy with him sitting beside her. _I wonder if he can read my thoughts._

“Only when you think them as loud as that,” Bran said in his quiet monotone.

So Brienne took to more talkative company.

Old Nan was wrinkled as a prune, her eyes pale blue and lightless. But her knitting needles clacked together as she chattered and clucked.

“Would you like to hear a story?”

Brienne replied that she was too old for stories.

“All young girls love stories,” Old Nan said.

_Clack, clack._

“I’m not a young girl.”

“Oh, but you are, at heart. Old Nan knows.”

_Clack, clack._

Brienne found herself admiring the long scarf that Old Nan’s fingers deftly produced.

“Actually...do you happen to have any more of those needles?”

-

As the days went by, Brienne took adamantly to the pursuits of sewing and knitting. It was a distraction, and it comforted her. The needles weren’t swords and daggers, but they were something at least to hold in her hands and _do_ something with.

“You’re quite good at that,” Sansa said one night, gazing incredulously at Brienne’s work.

“Surprised?”

“Actually, I am. But perhaps I shouldn’t be.” Sansa paused. For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were of the crackling hearth and needle threading wool and leather.

“Something’s been troubling you, Brienne.”

“I’m fine.”

“Is it Jaime?”

Brienne looked up sharply. Sansa was staring at her intently. The Queen in the North was not stupid. _She knows. She’s known for some time._

“It is about Jaime, isn’t it?”

Brienne could not hide from her, nor did she want to. _I swore an oath to her._ She took in a breath. “Is it true that Jaime and Tyrion had a falling out?”

“You could call it that...”

“And Jaime is upset that...because Cersei is dead?” Her voice sounded small and foreign to herself. 

“I don’t know,” Sansa said carefully. “Maybe. They’re a rather complicated family. Anyway, I would think you’d know better than me.” She looked beyond Brienne, to the bedside table littered with a small pile of scrolls with red and gold sealing wax. All from Jaime.

“It’s not like that,” Brienne said quickly, regretting instantly that her tone sounded as much lamenting as it was defensive.

Sansa raised her eyebrows, a small smirk tugging at her lips. 

“Well, it’s not!” Brienne insisted. “They’re short, tedious messages. Always accounting for the weather...wishes for my health.”

“Is that so bad?” Sansa burst, with a laugh.

“They’re not even in his own hand, the writing is so neat and even.”

“So he’s dictating them so that you don’t have to suffer reading his left-handed, probably very childlike handwriting--so what? Have you written back to him at all?”

“No.”

Sansa released a heavy sigh of exasperation. She rose from the chair and smoothed her dress, fiercely. “You should write to him. He cares so very much for you, and obviously you for him, and I can only wonder..." she abandoned that course of thought. "Do you know that he sat in this chair every day, watching over you?”

Brienne did not know that. She looked to the scrolls again, helplessly.

“But what do I say?”

_“Anything!”_

-

She had fresh parchment and ink, but few words came out of the nib. Every attempt was too little, too much, and always not enough. So much had happened in the time between. And he was so far away, again. She sighed, crumpled her attempts and threw them into the hearthfire. The parchment singed and hissed, curling in the flames which spat higher. For a moment, an image flashed in her mind of the night that Winterfell burned. When the dead danced.

Brienne shivered, a cold chill grasping her from inside. Trembling, she put the parchment aside and pulled up the fur blanket. It felt heavy and warm and good. She closed her eyes, daring to recall certain secrets that only the darkness could keep. Jaime, keeping her warm in the snow. How he had removed her armor, and his. The most wonderful weight of his body on hers. His heartbeat. Had his lips really brushed hers? Or had she imagined it? And he had said something...something important...

She could not remember what it was.

 


	3. Blood and Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV at the Rock, as requested :) This was a fun one to write, if a bit different. Enjoy!

The nib cracked. Black ink bled over the parchment and Jaime’s left hand. He cursed and balled it up, tried again with a fresh leaf of parchment. He stared at his work, leaned back:

_Dear Brienne._

The scrawl was embarrassing. With a heavy sigh, he crumpled the page and cast it aside. He lifted his gaze to the window. A grey dawn was spreading over the water. Jaime wondered what the sunrise looked like from Winterfell, through Brienne’s blue eyes. A rush of sweet longing warmed him and then faded.

No ravens flew from Winterfell. Not since the one he received from Queen Sansa, who, amongst more formal business, had casually informed him of Brienne’s awakening. That was a month ago. The silence in between was deafening, absolutely maddening. _What does it mean? Is she well?_ Every time he recalled the image of her body, freezing with her blood draining onto the snow, his own efforts to warm her--he felt his heart hold still. Jaime wished he could have lingered at Winterfell there just a while longer, to be there when she woke--but the Westerlands had its own open wounds which festered, and it was his duty to tend them as Lord Paramount.

Jaime sighed at the mess of parchment and ink on the table. He caught a glimpse of himself in a small looking glass, and grimaced. He looked and felt terrible. It had been days since he last slept.

Restless, he abandoned his writing desk. He paced the halls, collecting his thoughts. _So much work to be done in this ghastly place._ In truth, Jaime never wanted the Rock. He was burdened by it, as if he were the sand beneath the giant stone lion’s feet. Every corner he turned in these halls reminded him of a past life, a past self. Bitterness, guilt and regret burned in him. Ghosts of his family haunted him, appearing and disappearing in doorways as shadows.

He saw his father.  His face hard as stone, a stiff mask of disapproval. Even after all these years, Jaime still had a longing to please him.

He saw his brother. Such a small man and yet so large. _So destructive._ Jaime clenched his teeth. This was a pain he was not prepared to deal with--not now. Tyrion was still alive. His father and sister were not.

He saw his sister. In every room, Jaime heard her voice, felt her presence. It stirred no desire in him, but still he mourned her. Cersei was always there, always his twin, part of him even in death. _We were once so similar...are we still?_ That thought alone suffocated him; it curled its black smoke fingers down his throat, threatening to choke him.

Jaime lingered by an east-facing window. He breathed in the clean air as he looked out beyond the castle walls to the vast rich green of the forest. His gaze caught on a dark shadow over the trees. He knew what dwelled there. _Maggy the Frog._ The Lannister children were not allowed to venture anywhere near the home of the woods witch--but Cersei did anyway. And she was forever changed.

A deep unease stirred within him as he continued to stare into that dark heart of the forest. But Jaime knew what had to be done.

-

“So you wanted some fresh air after writing your love letters, and here we are?” Bronn grunted.

He was a few paces behind Jaime as they trudged through bog and swamp. The air was anything but fresh, thick and buzzing with insects. Long had they lost the roar of the ocean, the dramatic cliffside of the Rock.

“First of all, they’re not love letters,” Jaime said. “Second of all, you can turn back if you want to.”

“Oh no. I’m following you to make sure you don’t die. You still owe me a castle.”

“I’m not going to die, and you already have your castle.”

Bronn shrugged.

“I think I’ll deserve another after this.”

Jaime knew that Bronn was really following him as a true friend would. Acknowledging true feelings and intent seemed to be difficult for everyone in these times, even in the calm after the storm of war. Jaime wondered if that was why he had received no word from Brienne. _Perhaps she is guarding her heart._ But she had no reason to, after what words had passed between them that night she nearly died. Jaime’s chest clenched cold at a new thought. _What if she does not remember anything at all?_

“You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?”

Jaime didn’t answer.

“I knew it,” Bronn said. “Fookin’ dumbest mistake you ever made, leaving her. And you’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

“Thank you, Bronn. I appreciate that.” Jaime said the words dryly, but knew Bronn was speaking the truth. _Perhaps it is the dumbest mistake I’ve ever made. And I have made a lot._

They trudged on, mostly in silence but for the sucking of the thickening muck, pulling on their boots with every step. The swamp seemed hungry and trying to swallow them.

Jaime stopped in his tracks, and Bronn alongside him. There before them was a hovel, made of rotten earth and gnarled trees. The mud around it was entirely black.

“I change my mind,” Bronn said, staring at it. “This is officially the fookin’ dumbest mistake you ever made.”

-

Jaime pushed aside a canopy of rancid leaves which served as the hut’s entrance. He coughed. It was entirely dark and smelled beyond awful--a putrid stench of feces, blood, and something poisonous.

He heard a croaked peal of laughter in the corner.

_“The golden boy of the Rock. I’ve been expecting you for some time.”_

Jaime gripped the hilt of his sword.

_“You wouldn’t kill an old woman, would you?”_

As Jaime’s eyes adjusted, he saw two lightless eyes peering at him from the corner. The woods witch was caked in dried mud and leaves. What little hair she had hung in stringy vines around her wrinkled face.

“What hold did you have on my sister?” Jaime demanded, a tremor in his voice.

The witch stared at him vacantly. She smacked her dry lips.

 _“She gave me a taste of blood.”_ She sucked in her words as she spoke, a barely discernible wheeze of speech. _“I gave her a taste of truth.”_

“Truth, or poison? It was you and your curse that ruined her. She might have been good.” Jaime clenched his good hand. His other hand, his golden hand, hung lifeless at his side. “She was my twin.”

 _“She made her own way,”_ the witch rasped. _“You know it well. But there’s something else you came here for. You want something for yourself.”_

She leaned forward. He tensed, almost stumbling back from the assault of her breath.

_“Wouldn’t you like to know your future? The golden boy of the Rock with still more days to count?”_

Jaime stared at her.

_“Yes, yes, you do want to know. Most of all, you want to know what you will be...and if you can escape the shadow of your sister.”_

He wanted to tell her to stop speaking, but he could not. He was frozen.

_“Perhaps you also want to know about the one with sapphire eyes...”_

His blood surged hot. With a flash of steel, Jaime raised his sword to strike the woman down. To vanquish evil from the world, once and for all, to lift the curse from his family.

The sword did not come down. The witch had flinched away, was shielding herself. In this moment, she looked no more than a frightened old woman. She looked ordinary. Whatever evil had taken root in Cersei--the darkness within herself that she indulged--it was her choice. Jaime would not allow the same to happen to him. Cersei had been his other half at one time; she had never been his destiny.  

As Jaime slowly lowered his sword, he remembered that the blade had a twin--Oathkeeper, made from the same steel as his. And Oathkeeper’s owner was waiting for him patiently at Winterfell. He knew that she was.

He sheathed the blade. He looked hard at the woman, crouched in filth and fear.

“Your power is nothing to me.”

And so he left. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite themes to write about is fate vs. free will. I think that struggle is really central to Jaime's character, and it was fun bringing in Maggy to explore some of that. Hopefully you all enjoyed it, too :)


	4. Keeping Oaths Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is part I of II

_Lord Jaime,_

_Thank you for your letters. I am pleased to hear that you are well._

Brienne chewed her lip and thought.

_I am well, too._

“What next,” she muttered to herself, rolling the quill between her fingertips. She had no idea. Why was it so much easier to write to others than to the one who occupied her thoughts the most?

Ink splotched onto the parchment. Brienne cursed and started to crumple the page, but stopped herself. It was so unfinished. What would she write if she was not afraid?

 _I won’t send it,_ she promised herself.

She wet the nib and put it to the page once more.

_I love you Jaime._

The words came out so quickly. It felt good. She was about to continue, but two knocks sounded at her door. Brienne quickly covered the letter.

“Come in.”

She looked up as Sansa Stark entered the room. The queen was donned in quite... _different_ clothing than was normal for her taste. Leather jerkin, breeches. Boots instead of slippers. A sword belt. Her auburn hair was pulled up and away from her face, which glowed with sweat and dirt smudges.

“What in the world are you--”

“Oh, this?” Sansa said, looking down at herself as if she’d quite forgotten. “Arya’s teaching me to fight. I just got back from the sparring yard with her.”

Brienne was confused. “Arya’s teaching you to...the sparring yard….but _why?”_

Sansa shrugged. “So that I can protect myself, if ever need be.”

 _But that’s my job_ , Brienne thought.

“Do you want to see how strong I’m getting?” Sansa said, smiling and presenting her flexed arm. Brienne obliged and forced a nod of approval. But suddenly, she was acutely aware of how thin and soft her own body felt, having experienced significant muscle loss. She could not tell if she felt more ashamed of that or her irritation.

“I’ll never be as good as you, of course,” Sansa said. “But it makes me feel good to learn a little. During the battle...I felt useless waiting in the crypts while you up there fighting, risking your life for me.”

“You need never feel useless. I swore an oath--”

“I know,” Sansa said gently. “But things are different now. I have the time now. And in return, I’m giving Arya lessons on ruling and politics. And tact.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Disaster.”

Any other time, Brienne might have smiled at that but right now she still felt confused, even a bit perturbed. “What do you mean, ‘things are different now?’”

“Brienne,” Sansa began slowly. Her gaze was full of sincerity. She smoothed her trousers where a skirt might have been, then sat down next to Brienne at her writing desk. “You’ll always have a place at my side, meat and mead at my table; I swore an oath, too. But I suppose it’s a time for everyone to change and do new things. I was partially inspired by you and your sewing.”

She gestured to Brienne’s work which lay by the hearth. In the long month that Brienne had been on bedrest, she had fashioned herself gloves, a jerkin, trousers, even a new long dress tunic which she had embroidered her sigil into. Actually, needlework was something Brienne had always quite enjoyed. At least, it contented her as a pastime when there was nothing else to do.

“The war and the long night are over, Brienne. You can do anything you want. Go anywhere you want.”

Brienne studied her.

“Please tell me my father hasn’t written to you about this.”

The Evenstar desperately wanted his daughter home on Tarth--in fact, he had expressed similar sentiments. _The war is done,_ he had written. _You are my only child. Have you not fulfilled your oaths, Brienne?_

 _I am still sworn to Sansa Stark, Queen in the North,_ she had written back _. You know that, Father._

Sansa shook her head. “No, of course not. I just thought that perhaps you had... other pursuits you might like to follow.”

“I don’t.”

Sansa shrugged and rose from the chair. “All right. Nevermind.” She started for the door, then turned. “I almost forgot. This came for you.”

From her pocket she withdrew a rolled parchment. Brienne took it and frowned.

“I’m sorry that I already read it. He seems to have addressed to me for formalities--but clearly, it’s for you.” Sansa flashed a coy smile before turning to leave the room.

Brienne clutched the letter until she closed the door--then read it:

_Queen Sansa,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Forgive my scrawl; I am only starting to send words in my own hand, however much that is worth. Winterfell has been much in my thoughts during my time at the Rock, and I find that I have unfinished business to tend to in the North. You may expect my arrival in a fortnight from this date._

_Please give my warmest regards to Lady Brienne._

_LORD JAIME LANNISTER_

She read it again. _Please send my warmest regards to Lady Brienne._ Her heart quickened. She turned it over, then back again. _Winterfell has been much in my thoughts._ That tone was quite familiar. _Forgive me._

“There is nothing to forgive,” Brienne whispered.

And _unfinished business_ \--really?

Her face felt hot, and so she splashed it with water from her basin. All her heavy feelings dissipated; she felt light as a feather. _Perhaps all is not lost._ Of late, she had been hoping against hope that Jaime would return for her.  Ridiculously, she even had dreams of him in which he told her that he loved her and asked her to marry him. She indulged these fantasies and more; of sharing the same bed and being held tightly in his arms. It helped her sleep at night, to shut out the flashes of pain as her body healed.

And yet, as she dried her face, she caught her image in the looking glass: Scars. Freckles. Bent nose. Broad shoulders, even if they had softened from lack of training. Brienne’s heart sank. _I’m not a woman made for all that._

“Hopeless,” she muttered to herself. “Old Nan was right. I’m a hopeless young girl at heart.”

She picked up the letter again. Perhaps Sansa had it entirely wrong. Perhaps Jaime wanted _her_ instead. Sansa was beautiful, a queen. Jaime had lost a beautiful queen. It made perfect sense. And warm regards were hardly anything to warm her bed at all. _Perhaps Jaime only pities me._

Even as these thoughts filled her mind, a glimmer of steel caught her eye; Oathkeeper, leaning proudly in the corner of the room and catching rays of fleeting sunlight.

-

The two sisters clashed swords together in the sparring yard, all smiles and sweat. They worked well together; Arya was a good teacher, and Sansa was a quick learner. Brienne watched from above, useless and redundant. _If I can’t fight, who am I?_

Arya waved to her from down below.

“You should join us, Lady Brienne,” she called.

“I prefer to watch,” Brienne said.

The real reason was that Brienne was nervous about showing her ability--or lack thereof--in the light of day. Although she had healed well in the past two months, she did not need a maester to tell her she would never regain her former strength. Her body felt different and entirely wrong. _Perhaps Sansa is right, as well as my father._ _Perhaps I should go back to Tarth._ She reflected on why she had taken the path she had...to swear herself to Renly. Then to Catelyn. Then to Sansa. And so many things had happened in between, her course changing like a river. Where would she go now?

Suddenly, Brienne felt a presence by her side. Bran had wheeled up beside her.

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

“Not long,” he replied.

Usually, the youngest and wisest Stark made her feel self-conscious, but for once Brienne didn’t mind the company. They looked down at the sparring yard together, listened to the clash of steel and voices filling the air.

“Do you ever envy them?” Brienne said softly.

“I used to.”

“But not now?”

Bran’s face was still and full of calm.

“No. I see many things and more when I’m watching them. I see our ancestors. I see our descendants.”

“You see the future?”

“Only glimpses.”

Brienne bit her lip. _Don’t ask, don’t ask._ But she had to know.

“Do you...do you know what my future holds?”

Bran turned to her. He smiled.

“You know it already in your own heart.”

In his eyes, those dark pools that could see so much--Brienne could almost swear she saw Jaime.

-

She lay awake that night, unable to fall asleep. Her mind was restless, and her body was burning, aching to train. _Tonight. Tonight will be the night that I start again._ She pushed the fur blanket away, donned her clothes. She fastened her sword belt and sheathed Oathkeeper.

The night air was brisk and cool. No one else was awake at this late hour. _Good._ Brienne paced the castle grounds to warm her legs. Through the godswood and under the weirwood tree, whose red leaves were purpled by night. Through the archways and by the stables, where even the horses were quiet as the snow that fell. Brienne’s footprints would be covered by morning, and none would see the evidence.

But then she noticed another pair of fresh footprints, tracking opposite hers. She looked around and saw no one. Hand on her hilt, she followed the tracks into Winterfell’s courtyard. The footprints came from without the castle. _An intruder,_ she realized with a racing heart.

She clung close to the walls, quiet as possible. She heard a shuffling around the corner, and ducked in an alcove. _I’m not ready for this,_ she thought. Her body still felt strange and unwieldy, rusty at the joints.

She closed her eyes and centered herself with a deep breath. Then, she withdrew Oathkeeper, swinging it in a wide arc from left to right as she leapt from the alcove. Pivoting on her right foot, she sliced through the air…

...until her blade met another blade in a clash of steel. Brienne caught her breath, focused her gaze as she held her stance.

In front of her was Jaime Lannister. His green eyes gleamed bright, and his beard was flecked with snow. Over the silver cross of their swords, he smiled, only inches from her face. Their breath mingled together in the cold moonlit night.

“Lady Brienne,” he said, his voice low and warm. “How fortunate that I should chance upon you here.”

 


	5. Keeping Oaths Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime meet face to face in Winterfell. Continuation of previous chapter, and last chapter for this work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting for this everyone! I hope you enjoy. All see notes at the end for a follow-on work which is compliant with this fic.
> 
> Also, happy Game of Thrones weekend! Fingers crossed for Jaime/Brienne.

As they stood there with swords crossed, snow falling all around them--it seemed to Brienne that time was frozen. Not a muscle moved. They were stone statues, fixed forever in one moment. She watched him, and he watched her. Only his breath moved, misting the air with hers. His lips were parted. And his eyes...the lights in his eyes were like little moons, bright and wavering. 

_ He’s so beautiful.  _

Brienne blinked away that errant, unbidden thought.

“You’ve arrived early,” she said, swiping his sword away from hers.

He faltered only for a slice of a moment--then parried back.

“I made good time.” 

He tapped her sword, playfully. Unsure what to do, she tapped back. They circled and crossed blades in a light, almost courtly fashion.  _ Like a dance.  _ Jaime smiled at her. He had a smile like the sun, and Brienne felt warmed from the inside. She may have allowed a very small smile of her own.

Their tracks in the snow became a rough ring as they parried back and forth, around and again to the song of clashing steel--as if their two swords had longed for this moment. But Brienne was quickly realizing her own limitations. Her heart was soaring, delighting in the dance--but her body felt exhausted and aching after only five minutes.

Brienne took a moment’s pause, just to breathe a bit. She caught a glimpse of their tracks leading from the courtyard.

“Were you following me?” she demanded.

“Yes,” Jaime admitted. “When I couldn’t find you.” 

_ He was trying to find me. _

She felt a fluttering in her breast even as her muscles burned and old injuries throbbed with pain. Jaime seemed to sense her weakness; his smile was fading as he studied her and lowered his sword. Brienne swallowed the pain and lunged for a strike, with more force than she should have tried to use. She winced.

Jaime deflected, but did not return the strike.  _ He’s being kind. Too kind and too gentle. _ Brienne felt a sinking sense of shame.  _ He’s going easy on me _ .  _ He knows I’m still hurt _ .  _ And I am. _

He lowered his sword again and stepped forward.

“Brienne--”

She backed away like a wounded animal, held up Oathkeeper in a guarded stance.

“Why were you trying to find me?”

“To talk to you,” Jaime said. He shrugged, and smiled again. “To get my arse kicked, like the old days.”

“Stop patronizing me.”

“I’m not.”

A long moment passed. Jaime made a move, slowly sheathing his sword without breaking her gaze. Cautiously, Brienne followed suit, sliding Oathkeeper into the scabbard at her hip. Time stopped again as they faced each other; there was so much distance and yet only snow and crisp night air between them.  

_ This is stupid. Utterly stupid.  _

“Lord Jaime--”

“You asked me why I was trying to find you,” Jaime said, the words rushing out all at once. For a moment, he looked surprised at it. Then he took a deep breath. “The truth is, I’m still trying to find myself. But a big part of me is you, Brienne.”

She stared at him as stepped forward. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.

“I rode day and night from the Rock. As soon as I came through the gates, I went straight to your bedchamber--just to see that you were there. You weren’t.” He reached clumsily into his jacket, took from the pocket a folded piece of parchment. “But I did find this.”

Brienne’s heart stopped pounding. It stopped cold in her chest. 

“It was just there on the desk,” Jaime said, unfolding the parchment. “I hadn’t received any letters from you, and so I just had to…”

In horror, Brienne’s gaze fell on the contents of the parchment. She felt sick. She felt naked. Her unfinished letter, in which she professed her love for Jaime. She wanted to run, to melt into the earth, anything but stand here in front of him. All she could do was stand frozen. He came closer. She stood helplessly, unable to move.

“Why didn’t you send it?” he asked.

She shook her head, close to tears. She shut her eyes.

“It was never meant to be read...”  

She felt his hand on her arm. The warmth of his breath.

“But you meant it,” he said. “And so did I. Do you remember, Brienne?” 

Jaime was close enough now she could smell the scent of him. Brienne breathed in deep. He smelled of leather, woodsmoke, clean sweat...and something sweet that was distinctly him. A thousand, thousand memories came flooding back.

“Remember?” she asked, barely above a whisper. But somewhere, deep inside, she did...

That night that they lay in the snow. His body on hers, keeping her warm. She remembered feeling safe, feeling found. The sound of stone crumbling. And words. Beautiful words she thought she had dreamed.

“You said…”

Brienne felt the weight of his hand on her hip, and met his fingers with hers. The hilts of their twin swords touched. She opened her eyes. Jaime’s face was tense and searching her own, waiting for her to finish. 

_ Say it. You know what happened. _

“You said…” she started, “You said ‘I love you.’ And I said the same.” 

It was true. She had only thought it a dream, until now. Jaime squeezed her hand, their fingers tightly interlocked. 

“And then?”  

_ There was more. Oh yes, there was more. _

“And then...you asked me to...” She blinked back tears. Too late. They came streaming down her cheeks. “Did you really ask me to...”

“Marry me Brienne,” Jaime finished for her, lifting his hand to her cheek. He caressed away a tear, curled his other arm round her waist. He smiled. “I asked you to marry me. And you said yes. Do you still say yes?”

Brienne leaned into him. They were now pressed together from the breastbone down, and forehead to forehead. The snow continued to fall, but Brienne had never felt so warm than here in his arms. “Yes,” she managed through the tears, then a timid smile, and then laughter. _ “Yes.” _

Jaime laughed with her, brushed another tear from her cheek. His gaze lingered on her lips. Brienne held her breath. And then,  _ finally _ \--perhaps he took her mouth in his, or maybe she was the one to lean into his--they kissed. And they kissed more, stopping only to breathe and then started again through tears and laughter, fervently as the crossing of swords and sweetly as a song.  

-

He tried to play the gentleman at first, mumbling something about how he didn’t expect a room right away, would talk to the steward in the morning and sleep in the stables until then. 

Brienne was charmed. But that would not do. True, she was still an unmarried maid as of yet, and she knew the proper sequence of events in Westeros. However, she was also a woman grown. She had defied convention her whole life, had fought in battles almost to her death. Aside from all of that, Brienne had been waiting for a very long time. 

_ My bed is large enough for two, _ she said. 

Jaime understood her fully well. Surely he must have seen the dark lust in her eyes, felt the heat thrilling within her. 

_ Are you sure _ ? 

_ Yes _ .

They barely made it to her bedchamber, much less the bed itself. But once they did, once they were nestled naked under the furs and Jaime lay on top of her, kissing her through a momentary pain--Brienne knew what her body had been aching for. She had thought it had been fighting that she craved, but no...it was _ this _ . 

They made love the way that they sparred--thirstily, but the taking and yielding was loving and tender. There was wonder, joy, surprise...so many feelings, Brienne could barely distinguish them all as they washed over her like waves. She only knew to hold on, to press closer to Jaime, his skin warming hers. She loved the smooth feeling of him, and even the rough parts of their scars and wounds. Some would never heal, but in this bed they felt perfect.  

Hours later they lay facing each other, their pleasure quieted and quenched. The hearthlight dimmed. It would be embers soon, but Brienne could still see the sparkle in Jaime’s eyes. He smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Where shall we live, my lady?”

The question surprised her. Brienne had forgotten the outside world. 

“I don’t know. Would I like Lannisport?”

“I should hope so. But I would also like to see Tarth.” Jaime frowned thoughtfully. “It occurs to me I should probably meet your father.”

“Really, Jaime,” Brienne said with a groan. ”The last thing I want to think about right here and now is my father.” 

But she knew Jaime was right. It was only proper to visit Tarth and pay respects to her father, and soon. 

“How about children then?” Jaime said, smoothing his hand down her hip and to her belly. “Should we think about them?” 

Brienne smiled, warmed by the thought. “Perhaps.”

“I rather think we should after tonight.”

A vision that came to her of their life as a young family someday--one child in her arms, Jaime laughing and running after another. Both children were strong and healthy, with golden hair and bright, green-blue eyes.  _ And perhaps there will be more. _

How different the world was now from when the sun rose the previous morning. And how different it would be when it rose again. Wouldn’t Queen Sansa be surprised to hear their news?  _ No, she won’t be _ , Brienne thought. She imagined Sansa sighing heavily with relief, and ordering immediate arrangements for a wedding in the godswood, under the weirwood tree. _How nice that will be._

“Of all the oaths I’ve taken in my life,” Jaime murmured, seeming to read her mind even on the fringe of sleep, “The one I take with you will mean the most.”

Brienne let him know her agreement with a soft kiss. There was much and more to talk about--so many things, little flames of life and hope rising from winter’s ash. 

But for now, there was rest.   
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic. Leave a comment and let me know what you think.
> 
> Some of you may already be subscribers of mine and familiar with my work, but for those who are not--I actually wrote this particular fic to be compliant with the last three chapters of "In the Mists of Honor," which picks up Brienne and Jaime's story as they're on their way to visit Tarth:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/7970410/chapters/18231175
> 
> In that work there's also more discussion/resolution of Jaime and Tyrion's relationship for those who were wondering more about that. The first 19 or however many chapters are Brienne's backstory and you don't have to read them to be caught up since there's a time gap...but I do recommend my own work in its entirety, of course :) 
> 
> Thanks again <3


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